


Golden Standard

by ScaryScarecrows



Series: Garage Tapes [17]
Category: Gotham City Garage (Comics)
Genre: Big Brother Jason, Dick suffers, Gen, Jay's a little shit and Dami is gullible, only a little it's not so bad, or - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:21:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22379368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScaryScarecrows/pseuds/ScaryScarecrows
Summary: In Jason’s defense, he didn’t really think Dick would show up. They fucking shot at him last time! What dumbass rolls in for a favor after that?He had no idea the guy was even here until there was a high-pitched, terrified shriek and an oh-so-familiar battle cry.
Series: Garage Tapes [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1033470
Comments: 12
Kudos: 75





	Golden Standard

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I like Dick. Honest. S’just, well...I hurt the things I love.

Now, Jason really did mean to give this Older Brother thing an honest go. Y’know, like Darrel from  _ The Outsiders _ ; fun but ultimately a Responsible Adult.

That plan went right out the window upon discovering two very important things:

1) Damian has less chill than a volcano. Seriously, the kid would stab a cactus for poking him.

2) He. Is. Gullible.

…

It’s not like Jason can just wave at this opportunity as it flies by. It’s not in his nature, and, well, there are people out there who would kill for this treasure trove of entertainment. He’s always been big on appreciating what he’s got, y’know?

And yeah, he’s not a good person. Taser-to-that-guy’s-eyes aside, dissolving-a-Luthor-goon-in-acid aside, he’s...his impulse control is practically nonexistent. Sorry, D. He tries, honest! But trying ain’t enough.

Which is why, when a scout says he’s spotted Dick-oh, he’s sorry,  _ Nightwing _ , like that’s not fucking dumb-heading this way...well…

Surely Dick won’t actually show up. They shot at him last time, after all. And if he does, well, he’s not going to let Damian do anything to the guy. Nothing permanent, anyway. And Dove’s like, all the way over there. She doesn’t have to know. It’s not like he’s going to pick Damian up and teach him to do handstands on a moving bike, after all. This is totally normal Brotherly Bonding.

He drags Drouot into this scheme, because he’s right here and also because he’ll see the entertainment. He hates Dick for something he refuses to share. One day, maybe…

“Maybe this time we’ll get lucky,” he says, like Damian’s not skulking behind him, pretending not to eavesdrop.

“What?”

Ugh.

“Nightwing’s feathers,” he stresses, wishing resurrection had granted him telepathy. “I don’t know about you, but I’d die-again-for a swimming pool.”

Drouot’s looking at him like he’s got sunstroke-based insanity. Fortunately, Damian throws all pretense of ‘not eavesdropping’ out the window and demands, “What are you talking about.”

Yesssss. He’s in.

He schools his face into the most exasperated expression he can muster, turns around, and says, “Thought you were working on not eavesdropping.”

“Tt. You are impossible to ignore. Canons are quieter than you.”

Little shit.

“Whatever, brat.” He ruffles the kid’s hair. Progress is being made; Damian only swats at his hand rather than kicking his legs out from under him and trying to stab him. “Anyways, if you  **must** know, Nightwing’s feathers--”

“Nightwing does not have feathers,” Damian interrupts. “Mother once captured him for two days and there were no feathers of any kind to be seen.”

Oh, Talia. He remembers you fondly, but you’re ruining this and you’re not even here! Come on!

“It’s not like he advertises the wings, kid.”

“Do not call me  **kid** .”

“Do you wanna know the deal or not?”

Damian blinks up at him, thinking. Jason wills himself to keep a straight face, maybe with a dash of annoyance from all the interruptions.

“Fine.”

“Then sh.  **Anyways** , there is no way in Hell he can leap off a cliff and not die. You know it, I know it. And his secret is the wings. He’s not human, you know that, right?”

“What else would he be.”

“No way is that the weirdest thing you’ve heard of,” he says. Behind him, Drouot audibly rolls his eyes. Whatever. “I mean, I died, y’know.”

“You won’t shut up about it.” Drouot snorts. Traitor. “What is he, then.”

“Welp, rumor has it he’s some sorta genie. If you can get a feather, he has to grant you a wish.”

“Lies.”

“Au contraire!” he says, pressing his hand to his chest in offense. “When have I lied to you?”

“This morning. You said you did not eat the last waffle, but, in fact, you did.”

Finally,  **finally** , Drouot intervenes with a mild, “He’s telling the truth, Damian.”

Damian’s head snaps up so fast, Jason’s amazed he doesn’t hurt himself.

“Any wish?”

“Well, within reason. Genies have rules like the rest of us. But you can probably get, like, a dragon or something.”

Damian’s eyes light up. Jason feels a little bit guilty, but not enough to stop. Besides, nothing is gonna come of this.

“Really,” the kid says stiffly, in that way that says he’s trying to sound like an adult. “Hm.”

“Don’t go getting ideas, tater tot. We’ve been trying for years and we haven’t gotten one yet.”

“You are untrained buffoons, that’s why.” Then, “I’m hungry, since you ate the last waffle.”

“Oh my God, let it go--”

“No!”

* * *

In Jason’s defense, he didn’t really think Dick would show up. They fucking shot at him last time! What dumbass rolls in for a favor after that?

He had no idea the guy was even here until there was a high-pitched, terrified shriek and an oh-so-familiar battle cry.

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

“I DEMAND A FEATHER!”

“THE SHIT, KID--”

“RAAAHHHH!”

Oh no.

**“Jason Peter, what did you do.”**

“How is this my fault?”

“It sort of is, boss.”

“Shut up.”

Jason’s inclined to think Damian came flying off a roof and that’s why Dick is on the ground. It’s not the first time the kid’s pulled an ambush like that. However this happened, well, it’s...okay, this is entirely his fault, but it’s hilarious.

Dick is facedown on the ground. His motorcycle is a few feet away. Damian is on top of him, knife in hand.

“I want a dragon,” he’s hissing, and Jason can feel Dove’s Glare of Death at the back of his head.

“What did you tell him?”

“I didn’t think this would happen!”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Get  **off** me, you little maniac!”

**“Jason.”**

“Fine, fine.” He wades into the fray just as Dick bucks Damian off. Before the kid can go in for the kill, Jason grabs him in a bear hug and hefts him off the ground.

“Unhand me!”

“No.”

“I want my feather, I want my  **dragon** \--”

He regrets his life choices.

“Christ, Todd!” Dick spits, finally upright. His face has sandburn on the side. Jason refuses to feel sorry. “What is wrong with you?”

He ignores Dick in favor of Damian, who is-as is tradition-attempting to break free. But there’s no biting, and there’s no stabbing! It’s something!

He hands him over to Dove, who still doesn’t look too happy, and gives Dick a shove because he’s there and because he can.

“Did you hurt him?”

“Hurt  **him** \--”

“Answer the question.”

“He came flying at me screaming about feathers! No!”

Damian scoffs.

“As if he could hurt me.”

Dove sighs. Drouot appears to be crying with laughter in the background. 

“What did Jason tell you.”

“I want my dragon.”

“Your-Jay. What sort of lies--”

“I can’t get you a dragon!”

“Shut up,” Dove snaps. “This isn’t about you. Dami, what exactly did Jason tell you.”

“Nightwing’s feathers will grant me a wish, and I want a dragon.”

“You want a-of course he did.”

Shit. You know what? Dick’s clearly here for a reason, and as a responsible adult with a gang and everything, he should see what that is.

He grabs the guy by the scruff of his neck, hauls him to his feet, and starts power-walking (to make Dick have to jog, not out of fear or anything) towards his nice, safe office. He figures that he can get at least twenty minutes of safety before the shit hits the fan, maybe thirty if he makes an escape through the roof hatch.

“This is your fault,” he says. Dick sputters.

“My-! Where did you even find that kid? Why do you  **have** a kid?”

“Noneya. Why are you here?”

“I asked you first.”

“Yeah, and of the two of us, I have more backup. Why are you here.”

“I don’t even remember now!”

“Well,” he says, mentally drawing up his will, “you’ve got about half an hour to remember. Think fast.”

THE END 


End file.
